Praetextus
by Ryssa1457
Summary: The darkness closes in on him, smothering tightly. Tim doesn't know if he can handle being blind. Jason/Tim
1. Chapter 1

**"Fragmentum" isn't done. This is just another thing for me to write. I love blind characters. Also, if I'm not getting blindness right, I apologizeeee. I don't actually know all that many blind people. I'm sorry. But, I hope you like it! Enjoy~**

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><p>His eyes burn. Tim touches his face, trying to feel for the acid burn. He can feel it healing under his fingertips. It quick acting, fast healing, and only attacks vulnerable tissues. It burns skin but fades... He touches the area under his eyes and the last of the acid burns disappear.<p>

"Tim!" Tim turns toward the voice, but blackness meets his sight.

"Dick?"

"I called him," Jason's voice sounds much closer. Tim's having issues remembering what had happened, how he ended up here. He was heading to Jason's. It wasn't anything special. It was a sort of second date. They wouldn't be meeting up after alternate patrols, like the first one. It had been planned as a date between Timothy Drake-Wayne and Jason Todd.

Tim had been really excited.

"Tim, what happened?"

"I was walking to Jason's," he says. He points in the direction he thinks Jason's apartment is. "But, I guess someone... saw me? I got hit with some really quick healing acid. So it wasn't someone normal. I don't know who. I wasn't focusing. I should have been. I—"

"Ugh, just... shut the _fuck _up, Tim." Jason. He looks to where Jason should be. "It's my... Ugh. Should have come to get you, or something. _Shit._"

Tim sighs, rubs his eyes and blinks, looking around.

"It's _not_ your fault, don't yell at me." He tries to find Dick. God, this acid should be wearing off, right?

_It only attacks vulnerable tissues._

He rubs at his eyes again, shuts his eyes tightly, and opens them again.

He makes a choked noise that he tries to squeeze off before its birth. It doesn't work. Not even a little bit. He shuts his eyes again, opens them.

"Tim?" Dick and Jason at the same time. _But he can't see them._

"I can't," he rubs his eyes, his voice rising, "I can't see. I can't _see. _My eyesight—my eyesight isn't coming back! I can't see! Dick, I can't see, I can't see!" He knows he's freaking out. He knows it. He thinks those are Jason's hands on his shoulders, but he can't tell because he _cannot see who is touching him._

Red Robin is useless if he cannot see. _Tim_ is useless without his sight. He cannot see a computer screen. He cannot... he can't do _anything._

He can't go on patrol. He can't jump from building to building.

_I can't see Jason. _

He covers his face with his hands and curses. He didn't _know_ this guy with the acid. Had never seen him before in, any database anywhere.

_God, I was going to... I don't know, kiss him tonight or something. _

"Tim," Dick's talking quietly, soothingly, like he did when he fired Tim. He wishes Dick would stop. "Tim, do you remember anything in particular about the person...?"

"No," he snaps and it sounds really mean. He feels awful, but doesn't take it back. "I... I want to go home." He rubs his eyes again, hoping it will help. He doesn't. Tim stands to start walking. He thinks he can get home blind. He told himself he could many times.

He thought hearing was supposed to get better when one was blind. But he didn't hear Jason as he walked up behind him and grabbed his wrist.

"I think you should... come with me. Since, you know..."

"No," he sounds so mean. _Stop it Tim. _"No... thanks. I—Just. Take me to my apartment. I can navigate that blind, I assure you." He knows Jason wants to argue. He hears him say "fucking stubborn" undder his breath.

_Pot and kettle, Jason._

But Jason complies.

When Tim is home and after Jason is gone, he tries to move to his bedroom.

He trips over the coffee table (only managing to save himself by a back handspring that Dick taught him).

But he won't call Dick and he won't call Jason.

He hopes to have his sight back in the morning.

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><p><strong>By the way, the title means "Blind" in Latin. :D<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**Woo, chapter two! Next chapter, Tim has some startling and even more upsetting realizations about blindness. Woo!**

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><p>He doesn't know what time it is. He can't see the sun. He can't see the hand he's waving in front of his face either. This is upsetting. What good would he be without his eyesight? This was not a handicap that he could get over with a wheelchair. (He instantly regrets that thought. Barbara is a nice, wonderful person.)<p>

But he can't even see a computer screen. His true use and purpose no longer achievable.

The phone rings. Now that the shock has worn off, it is far easier to navigate his apartment. But that is simply because of his photographic memory.

"Hello?"

"Tim! Didn't think you'd..."

"Be able to find my phone? Well, I can." Here comes a lie. "And I'm fine now. So checking up on me is a waste of your time."

He can picture Dick's wounded look and disregards the tightening in his throat. He shouldn't feel bad. He shouldn't. Dick didn't care about him when he was coddling Damian and he didn't care when he told him Bruce was alive (and he was, the Bat-family had gotten a call a week ago, one of Bruce's random check-ups).

So he doesn't feel bad. Or, rather, he tries not to.

"I see. Well, I'll come by later. Jason wants to see you, anyway." Tim can hear Jason in the background "don't _tell_ him that, you asshole."

Tim cannot keep up this charade of adequacy in the physical presence of others. He hopes that maybe his eyesight will return before they stop by. Hope has never done him that much good, but it never hurts to try, he supposes. He rubs his eyes and says, "okay. If he wants to."

"Tim... you sure you're—"

"I'm fine, Dick," Tim says, cutting him off. He places the phone back in its cradle and massages his temples. He supposes he should count himself lucky that the acid only affected his eyesight and didn't directly attack his brain.

He made a mental note to apologize to Jason. He'd ruined the only date they had actually set.


	3. Chapter 3

**Woo! Finally! Another chapter of this, my other darling child! I hope you all enjoy this! :D**

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><p>Bruce pulls on a coat as he heads for the door. Dick and Jason are bickering in the kitchen over Tim, the very reason Bruce is getting ready to leave.<p>

"Where are you going, Father?" Damian, of course, is curious.

"I'm going to see Tim. Apparently, there's an issue that needs seeing to." Damian scowls with jealousy. Bruce makes a note to go out on patrol with his son tonight. But only after he had checked up on Tim (and, preferably, brought him back to the Manor if what Dick and Jason were disputing were true).

"Well, give Drake my undying hatred, if you would."

Bruce nods once and heads out the door.

Walking through Gotham as a billionaire was difficult, he will admit. However, he makes his stride brisk and purposeful. And, as people part out of Bruce Wayne's way, he makes it to Tim's apartment without too much trouble.

When Bruce knocks, it takes Tim ten-point-three seconds to answer the door. He is slow.

"How may I help you?" Tim's eyes make contact with Bruce's.

But the pupils do not dilate. Bruce holds in a sigh and rubs his temples, knowing Tim cannot see him do this. "Hello, Tim."

Tim's eyebrows hide in his now-long hair. "Hello, Bruce."

"I think, Tim, that you should spend time at the Manor."

"...I'm fine here. Haven't needed to use your equipment in a while."

Bruce does sigh, this time, and puts a hand on Tim's shoulder. "I'm sorry. That sounded like a suggestion. What I mean is, you are coming to the Manor with me. Your pupils aren't dilating, which means your optic nerve is damaged. You cannot see. I will cover the price of your apartment until we can figure out a way to make you fit again."

Tim's face forms itself into a scowl. "I don't need babysitting, Bruce—"

Bruce prepares himself for the low blow he's about to give. "Jason is worried , hovering at the Manor."

Tim's frown stays in place, but he bites his lower lip, worrying it between is teeth.

"...alright. Do I still have stuff there, or do you want me to pack?"

"You still have things at the Manor. I'm sure you will find your room as it was before."

"I'm sure I will, if Damian hasn't been allowed in it." Tim's voice is bitter and he steps outside his door, keying in the number locking code and locking the manual bolt. "So. Let's go."

Tim, of course, will be bitter about this, but not for too long. He will understand. After all, Tim is the most understanding of his brood. And Jason _is _ worried. He wasn't lying. But Tim cannot say no to Jason, and Bruce caught on to that right away.

And that is what Bruce hopes Tim forgives him for.


	4. Chapter 4

**Well lookie here. An update. ABOUT TIME, YES? I sorry. I will do better. :D COMMENTS ARE LOVED.**

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><p>Damian is watching. Bruce has just come home with <em>Drake<em>, that moron, and almost everyone is in a virtual dogpile in the living room. Damian was here first. Why does Drake have to ruin everything? It is painfully unfair. Almost as unfair as having to listen to all this nonsense.

"He can't _see_—" yes, Todd, I am sure we realize that, thank you.

Drake gives an exasperated grunt that sounds perilously close to what Damian is feeling. He doesn't like to think that he and Drake have anything in common whatsoever. Damian tries to ignore them all, but they are in the center of his quiet place.

"I'm not helpless," Tim says, tossing his hands up in the air. "I _can_ navigate this city blind, I'm sure."

Bruce's voice is quiet, but filled with power. "Even when you could see, someone did catch you off guard." There is a sharp intake of breath. It is Todd, not Tim.

Tim's eyes lock with Damian's, across the room, through everyone in that worried little circle. His pupils do not adjust, but Damian knows Tim knows he's there. Then his eyes move to the floor. It is a sign of submission. Drake makes no more grunts of disapproval and makes no further effort to defend his autonomy. His shoulders slump downward. He is defeated.

"So what do I need to do." Tim, even though he has stopped protesting, voices his displeasure through making his question a statement. It implies a loss of freedom, something that no one in Bruce's family enjoys.

"We're going to the Cave, to see what can be done about your condition." Bruce doesn't sound hopeful or pessimistic. He is being his normal, analytical self. Bruce turns his head to Jason only slightly. "You and Dick will remain up here."

"The fuck I will—"

"You _will_ remain up here." It sounds like a Force suggestion from that Star Wars trash Tim likes so much.

Jason is furious but nods. Bruce leads Tim down to the Batcave. Damian uses the word _leads_ because Tim almost tripped (Alfred has done some moderate furniture shifting). Damian can feel fury radiating from the grandfather clock. Tim's head is bowed and his jaw is set. He is probably gnashing his teeth. He will regret that when his jaw is sore in the morning.

The worry-circle breaks up. Jason storms off angrily, a torrent of emotion. Dick sighs and shuffles away. Alfred seems to melt into the room and disappear.

Damian picks the book he had been reading back up. He thinks of Drake.

Then he wonders what it would be like if he could not read the words there.


	5. Chapter 5

**Writing Bruce is odd. I hope I'm not fudging him up. He'd look awful in chocolate. ENJOY.**

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><p>Bruce has run almost every test he can think of. All of them say the same thing: Tim's optic nerves are damaged. What the tests do not tell him is <em>why.<em> None of the acid Tim mentioned is still there. No residue. No obvious damage. The optic nerve of each eye just no longer works. Not only is this bad news for Tim, but it's bad news for every future victim of this acid.

On top of this, Bruce has no idea how to fix Tim's sight.

"What's the verdict?" Tim asks. He is keeping his voice neutral. Bruce knows that's not the way he wants to voice the question, because Tim probably knows what Bruce is going to say and is trying to keep out the panic. After all, Tim's sight is important to him. It is how he processes almost all his information. He has to _see_ things to _understand_ them and this blindness makes that a problem.

He processes computer information, facial expressions, body language—

Tim loves to _read_. And Bruce is about to take away all those things. He breathes deeply, silently, so Tim does not hear his trepidation.

"I can't do anything without more information." Tim heaves a sigh. Bruce takes that as a sign for explanation. "Your optic nerves look fine. Perfect. You should have twenty-twenty vision judging by the condition of your optic nerves. But the signals your eyes are trying to send aren't going anywhere. Your pupils aren't reacting to light. As far as your optic nerves are concerned, you're not seeing anything. I cannot fix something that your body says there is no problem with. It is as if you were born blind."

Tim pulls his right leg up onto the table, bringing to up to his chest and rests his chin on his knee.

"What do I do?" His voice is quiet, the sound of defeat. His sightless eyes fall on Bruce and it is really hard to believe that he cannot see.

"So far, there is nothing I can think of to do." Bruce puts his brisk voice to work. "Until I can surmise what to do," and he will be consulting everyone he can think of on how to fix this problem, "you will be staying here."

"What? Bruce, I can at least navigate my _apartment_—"

His tone changes from brisk to commanding. "You are staying here. This is non-negotiable."

Tim sets his jaw. He looks so much like Damian, even though they are not related by blood (and as far as Damian is concerned, they are not related _at all_).

Tim walks himself up the stairs. He is angry. That is obvious by the set of his shoulders. Bruce does not follow him. Alfred or Dick or Jason (probably Jason, but if not, Alfred) will escort him around until he memorizes where things are.

Bruce sits down and begins his analyses again.

He cannot accept that there is nothing he can do.


	6. Chapter 6

**I hope you enjoy this! :D Tim/Jason bonding sortofkindof. C: MUCH LOVE. **

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><p>Tim doesn't want any help. At all. Not even a fucking escort around the house until he gets his bearings. And, due to the minor rearrangements, he needs one because he keeps smashing his knee into everything that has been moved. Which is a lot of shit.<p>

Tim is so goddamn _stubborn._

_Pot and kettle, Jason_, he hears Tim's voice chime in his head. And Tim has said that many, many, _many_ times. Well, Jason might be stubborn but Tim is just fucking difficult. Sometimes. Right now, a perfect example. Tim makes his way up the stairs and down the hall to his room. Jason doesn't follow—not that he doesn't want to—but Dick has a firm grip on his elbow.

From what Jason can gather, Tim has just run into Damian, because the little brat says, "Drake, watch where you—... pay attention to where you're going." Jason pictures Tim scoffing, because Damian heaves a loud and obnoxious sigh before coming back downstairs.

"Why is he still here?" Damian asks. Dick lets Jason's arm go and he's free to go after Tim if he wants. "Can he not go home to where he will not be such a bother? It is not like he can now accompany us on patrol." Damian is an expert at whining. Jason is not in the mood to put up with the kid's _expertise. _Jasno sheds his boots (because he is staying here tonight) and heads up the stairs.

He prepares himself for a verbal battle as he opens the door. Tim is lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling as he almost always does when he's in a bed. It's kind a moot thing to do now.

"Tim, I—"

"I'm sorry."

"...what?"

"I'm sorry," Tim says again, sitting up and crossing his arms. It really is eerie how Tim can still look him in the eyes like he can see them. "I'm sorry I've been so... that I'm still being..." He stops. Clenches his fists. "It's just without my eyes..." He cannot seem to find the words so he stops there and doesn't say anything else.

Jason moves to sit on the bed next to him. He isn't sure if he should put his arm around Tim or not. They've gone on patrol together often. They went on an after-patrol-date once. It is. Complicated.

But, after a moment of hesitation with his arm hovering in the air behind Tim's back, he puts his arm back down and laces his fingers together.

He is glad Tim cannot see him. Jason Todd as never looked—or felt—this unsure.

_What do I do to fix this? Someone tell me how to fucking fix this. _


	7. Chapter 7

Dick pads down the stairs in the middle of the night hoping that perhaps Alfred has recently made some cookies (this doesn't make him fat), since Tim's back in the manor and sleeps an hour every two days (pardon the slight exaggeration).

There are no cookies in the kitchen, but Dick can smell them, which means they were made a relatively short time ago and that they have been moved. He follows the scent to the library, where Tim is. He's sitting there, staring at a book open on his lap. The plate of chocolate chip cookies sitting on the small end table next to a half empty glass of milk (he's not being pessimistic. That glass is half empty because Tim was emptying it by drinking it).

"How's the book Timmy?" Dick realizes his mistake when Tim looks up at him and his pupils don't adjust. Sleepiness must have clouded his brain because, duh, Tim is blind, that's why he's back and that's why Dick cannot sleep.

"It's fantastic." Tim says, his dry tone edged with bitterness. "Best book ever. Seeing as how it's the dictionary." He shuts the book, running his hands along the rough, red cover of the dictionary, tracing the faded, golden, imprinted words on the cover. "Miriam-Webster." He sets the book off to the side and curls up on the couch. It's reminiscent of the fetal position. He gropes blindly—damn, uhm—he—reaches for a cookie and pops one in his mouth.

Dick grabs a couple of his own and takes a seat near Tim's feet. They're bare, so when Dick runs his fingers lightly over the bottom of his feet, it's Tim's own fault that he flinches at the tickle sensation. He was silly enough to have bare feet. Dick runs his fingers over the bottom of Tim's feet again and this time Tim involuntarily kicks backward, trying to choke off his laugh with a cough.

"Stop that."

"Stop your brooding," Dick counters.

"Dick," Tim is getting is lecture voice ready, "I cannot see. I can't read. I can't play games. I can't even research anything. I can't fix things. Dick, I was sitting here, staring at the pages of a dictionary I can no longer read."

"You are very pessimistic."

"I prefer pragmatic."

"I'm sure Bruce will—"

"Bruce doesn't know what to do." Tim says quietly. "He says that, cosmetically, there is nothing wrong with my eyes. Though I know and he knows that the longer I can't see, the more my irises will lose pigmentation." His voice gets even quieter. "And Jason _likes_ my eye color."

"Oh, Timmy," he pulls Tim up into a sitting position and embraces him, "Jason won't care about your eyes. They'll still have some blue and they'll always have your intensity, regardless if you can see or not." He squeezes tightly. Tim sighs, but his muscles are still tense and he says nothing to Dick that indicates that he's conceded the point.

They finish off the plate of cookies. Dick's early morning snacking catches back up with him as he dozes off on the couch, leaning heavily on the now completely upright Tim. As his eyes flutter shut for the last time, he sees Tim pick the dictionary back up and begin tracing the words on the page as if he can read the ink with his fingers.

He makes a mental note to help Bruce out with fixing Tim. (Because Tim had been so happy with Jason. This is not fair to either of them.)

The thought is filed and packed away and Dick slides into sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

**I told you I would update! Okay. So. ENJOY THIS. Damian feature, wheeeee~ :D AND THANKS TO KUYENG13-THE HEART LOGOS FOR THE JASON READING ALOUD IDEA BECAUSE IT'S JUST FRICKING PRECIOUS. She's already done something with it on her livejoural (go and seeeeeeee) and I have permission to borrow the idea so I swear I didn't take it. :D**

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><p>Damian does not like to be shooed away because he is young and small. Damian does not like it at all, especially when the shooing comes from Grayson and Todd. Their discussion is not for little brothers, is it? Then he will just got find Drake and get <em>him <em>to listen in on the conversation for "big brothers only." But Drake, as he always has, has made himself difficult to find. He is not in his room, or Todd's room, or the Batcave, or—

Damian has not checked the library. But why would Drake be in the library? He cannot _read_ those books. There's nothing in braille here.

_Tt,_ Damian thinks, _that is why he'll be there. Because Drake makes no sense whatsoever.  
><em>

And he is, a stack of books at his left knee, eyes skimming over the pages as if he can read them. And he cannot. So what is the point in sitting here, alone, trying to read books with sightless eyes? Damian does not understand. Drake rubs at his eyes and flips a page.

"Did you sleep at all?" Damian asks. Drake tilts his head, indicating that he is listening, though he does not lift his head.

"I've been here." He gestures to an empty plate and glass on the table behind him. "Dick was here early this morning."

Perfect introduction. "Speaking of the fool, Drake, I need you to speak with Grayson and Todd."

"If you want me to tell you what they're talking about, they kicked me out of the 'big brother meeting' too. So, no luck." He doesn't look up from the book he is not reading.

"But, and while it galls me to admit it, you are an older brother. I do not understand. How can you be excluded from a meeting that you qualify for?"

"Because they're talking about me."

"What could they possibly have to talk about? You are not that fascinating, regardless of Todd's high opinion of you."

Drake smiles, finally looking up from his not-reading. There are small, dark half-moons under his eyes, and his eyes are bloodshot from the strain of trying to focus on pages he cannot see.

"I'm not particularly interesting. But they are freaking out."

"You also appear to be freaking out," Damian points out, shifting his weight to his left side. "Granted, your _passivity_ would imply otherwise, but trying to read words you cannot see is a form of freaking out." He crosses his arms.

"You. You and being astute."

"I prefer the term genius."

"Well everyone else prefers modesty, so astute will have to suit you." Damian rolls his eyes and watches as Drake shuts the book, smoothing his hand over the cover. He looks so forlorn, a kicked animal suffering slowly as it dies. Tragic picture, really.

"You could have Todd read to you," Damian suggests.

"..._what_?"

"Have Todd _read_ to you, if you are going to mope over books. Did you go deaf too? Ridiculous, that I must repeat myself." Damian shrugs. "I hear he has a guilty pleasure of reading anyway. I am sure he will be overjoyed that you asked and will feel that he is contributing something to your life." He pauses. "_Not_ that I _care_, you see. Just giving you information to use to your advantage."

Drake just sort of looks at him and moves the books away from his knee.

"Thank you," he says, carefully, as if he is deliberating his words. "I don't care about you either but... do you want to go see if we can eavesdrop? I need my other senses to accommodate anyway so..."

"Yes." Damian says. "Eavesdropping is a form of training." He gestures to the door. "After you."

Drake stands, leaving his books behind him. As they creep along the hallway, Damian tells himself that he really does not care about Drake. Not even a little.

But he knows that it is a lie. He thinks that Drake knows it too.


	9. Chapter 9

**Yayyy blind Tim. TIM AND JASON BEING CUTE. AND TIM BEING SAD. IN THIS CHAPTER. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNEDDDDDD. Enjoy this chapter. C:**

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><p>They are done talking when Tim and Damian arrive back in the living room. In fact, the living room is empty, as far as Tim can tell (from the lack of sound). Noise, however, is coming from the kitchen. Jason noise. Jason yells. Damian's child hand grabs onto his shirt and pulls him in the direction of the yells.<p>

"_Fix it_. Fucking fix it! Or tell me how to fix it. Is there some magic word I need? Or a Lazarus Pit lying around?" What had happened while Tim and Damian were in the library? Did the world come crashing down while they were... not-bonding?

"Don't even joke about that Jason." Bruce.

"I wasn't fucking joking!"

Bruce grunts as Damian finishes pulling Tim into the kitchen. The silence that settles is awkward and makes his ears ring. Tim is sure they are all staring at him. He can feel their eyes. Goosebumps sweep over his arms as he directs is eyes to the floor. Tim's a taboo now. An Unmentionable.

Awesome.

"Todd," Damian says. He hasn't let go of Tim's shirt.

"What, you little snot?"

"Drake would like you to read him to sleep at night."

Tim sputters, warmth creeping up his neck to bathe his face in embarrassment. Leave it to the demon boy to break the tension. (Tension that is Tim caused. He knows it and they know he knows it. It's why they shut up so fast.)

"Bullshitting to get big brother and daddy to stop fighting."

"I am not bullshitting, you vulgar simpleton. Drake cannot see words and he wants you to read to him."

Bruce has left the kitchen. Alfred as left too. He thinks he took Dick with him, because he doesn't hear Dick tapping on the counter like he does when he is restless (which is all the time).

Then Damian lets him go (which is ridiculous, because Damian got him into this mess) and leaves as well. He can hear Damian's feet retreat back toward the library. Now it is just Jason and Tim. Tim, painfully embarrassed and Jason probably wondering what he was doing when he decided to date Tim.

"...do you really want me to read to you?" Tim rubs at his eyes, feels Jason takes his wrists and hold them. "Did you even sleep, Babybird?" Tim looks to where he knows Jason's face is and raises his eyebrow. Ridiculous question. Tim didn't sleep regularly when he could see. "Pff. Of course you didn't."

Of course he didn't. Even Jason knew it was a silly question.

Tim clears his throat "...would you read to me?"

Jason's breath whispers across Tim's forehead when he answers. "Just tell me what you want to hear, baby." He drops Tim's wrists and is out of Tim's reach, even as he reaches out to fidget with Jason's white tuft of hair.

_Way to go, Tim._ Tim stands there in the kitchen. Alone. In ear-ringing silence. Jason had sounded so sad. And now he was not here to ask why.

Tim rolls his shoulders, allowing the blame for Jason's discomfort to settle there. He balances on the balls of his feet, rolls his neck. The weight settles evenly. Tim can barely tell it's there at all.

After all, Tim has had a lot of practice at assuming blame.


	10. Chapter 10

**Tim and Jason need to talk about things more. It would fix so many problems. BUT THAT WILL NOT BE HAPPENING IN THIS CHAPTER. It was just a note. C: If they communicated properly, how would us authors make them so lovably awkward? (Miscommunication makes stories better, just ask Romeo and Juliet.) ENJOY. :DDDD**

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><p>Tim has been lying on the couch all day, a fluffy blanket wrapped tightly around him. And, it hasn't exactly been all day, but he <em>has<em> been on the couch since Damian embarrassed him in kitchen. He hasn't moved much, hasn't wanted too. At least, that's what Jason can gather. Because he has passed by the living room several times and Tim has been there every single pass.

Just. Lying there. And. Staring at nothing. If it weren't Tim, Jason would have guessed he had fallen asleep with his eyes open. But Tim doesn't fucking sleep, so that would have been a ridiculous thought. And Jason wants to go over, ask what's wrong. Because Tim has been on that couch in that blanket for _hours_. It's dark outside. And Tim has been here.

Jason doesn't think he's eaten.

"Hey, Babybird."

Tim is up, blanket off. He had been taken by surprise. Tim. Had been. Taken by. Surprise. What the _fuck_.

"Oh. Jason." Tim sounds. Something. Jason doesn't have a word for it.

"You ready to get to bed?" He gestures toward the stairs. Flinches. He'd forgotten. But Tim's eyes wander up the portion of the stairwell that is visible from the living room. Then his eyes fall onto Jason, near his collarbone. Jason swallows.

"Sure. But." Tim stands, folds the blanket, smooths his hands over it. "You don't have to read to me. I can." He stops and smooths his hands over the folded blanket again. "I can probably get to sleep on my own."

Jason rubs the back of his neck. He _knew_ Tim would be having second thoughts. He fucking knew it. Tim hates people in his space and his room is his space. Reading books in Tim's space would be like violating a church, that's how sacred it is.

But Jason's never been really good at the whole "respecting sacred shit" thing.

"I want to." And he does. He wants his voice to be the last thing Tim hears before he goes to sleep. He's never had the honor of being that for him. He wonders if it will actually help Tim sleep. He wants it to.

Tim doesn't say anything for a moment. But then he says, "okay."

He shuffles up the stairs on his own, his shoulders sagging, as if under a great weight.

This is all Jason's fault. All of this. He breathes a sigh out viciously through his nose as he follows Tim up the stairs and into his bedroom. It's perfectly clean. Alfred has done a great job of maintaining it in Tim's absence. (Jason's room had been the same way, but he has already managed to make it look a little more Jason-y. There's shit everywhere. Clothes, boots, weapons...).

Tim slips into bed and rolls onto his left side, scooting backwards so that Jason will have a place to sit. Jason has already picked out the book he's going to read. It's a collection of poetry by Robert Frost. Tim loves poetic stuff (and, frankly, so does Jason, but if you tell anyone he will fucking find you and wipe you from existence. This, he promises).

One of Tim's favorites, Jason found out awhile ago, is _Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening_. Jason doesn't bother to tell Tim what he's reading. He'll knows when Jason gets to the first line.

Jason sits and Tim rests his forehead against his knee.

"Whose woods these are I think I know," Jason begins. A smile touches Tim's lips, one of the first Jason's seen today (maybe even the only one). "His house is in the village though. He will not see me stopping here, to watch his woods fill up with snow."

Tim pulls the covers under his chin. He looks so small. Jason wants to curl around him and keep him safe. He swallows. Keeps going.

He doesn't even get to the third stanza before Tim starts dozing. Babybird must be pretty fucking tired (or maybe he had really needed this, Jason doesn't know). But his breathing evens out when Jason gets to the middle of _After Apple Picking._

Jason runs his fingers through Tim's hair, and continues until he finishes that poem. Tim sighs, murmurs something (and it makes no sense, but it's just _so_—). Jason moves to _Mending Wall_. Jason thinks he could fall asleep here. Tim even left enough room for him to lie there and sleep.

But he doesn't (because he _wants to_, and because it wants it, he cannot have it. Not yet). He reads two more poems, brushes his fingers over Tim's forehead, and quietly leaves the room. He leaves Frost's anthology on the bedside table for another time.

(But he doesn't know that Tim saw him leave.)


	11. Chapter 11

**Tim gets cranky when he's sleepy. C: Enjoy this chapter everyone! :D**

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><p>And so this occurs another four nights in a row. Tim gets so unbelievably close to sleep, but then Jason leaves, and Tim is wide awake again. Tim did not sleep much before his blindness. And he has yet to really sleep since his blindness. Tim is <em>exhausted<em>. All he wants to do is sleep when his internal clock says _it's bedtime now, come now Master Timothy. _

(His internal clock sounds like Alfred.)

During the day, when his clock says _it's time to be out and about Master Timothy_, Tim just sits. And stares. He stares at walls, and books, at the television when it is on (not that he can see it). He tries (and fails) to train in the Batcave. Bruce runs more tests. Tim isn't at all helped.

And everyone dances around his eyesight. The jokes Damian used to make about how he never noticed the obvious (but he usually did, Damian's just a brat) and how blind he must be? Finished. Dick's mentioning of _when did you last see Jason?_ Over. They barely even mention patrol around him, because he cannot go.

It has been five days since he moved back in and Tim is _sick_ of it. Sick of Jason avoiding him because he can't see, sick of Damian treating him like he's an invalid rather than stupid, sick of Dick coddling him. Sick. Tired.

But he will _not_ be tired tonight. When Jason comes to read to him, Tim is ready. He leaves the space for Jason, as he has been doing since this started, and listens to Jason read. Tim gets here, so close, on the edge of dreaming and—

Jason leaves. Just like the last five times. But this time, Tim reaches out and grabs his jacket. Holds tightly.

"Babybird..." Jason says. He feels Jason turn slightly.

"Get in the bed."

"Babybird, you should get some—"

"Sleep. Yes. Now get in the bed. And keep reading to me." Tim's too tired to be really, really polite. "Please." But he can allow that. He just wants to sleep. Next to Jason.

He hears Jason sigh. But he doesn't say no and he feels Jason lie down next to him. He hears Jason's boots hit the floor. And his arm slides under Tim's shoulders and pulls him to a really comfortable spot on Jason's chest.

"Better?" Jason sounds amused. And resigned.

"Much." Tim sighs. "You can keep reading."

"Fucking bossy." It's an endearment. Tim can tell. He hears the pages of the books rustle (Tim can't tell if his hearing is improving yet). "How does _Dedication_ sound?"

"Good." Especially since Tim can feel Jason's voice rumble and hear the baritone vibrate in his skull.

Jason begins to read and Tim begins to doze. He reaches for the dream-place, for sleep, wrapping Jason's voice around him like an extra blanket. Jason starts absently playing with Tim's hair. He probably doesn't even realize that he's doing it. It's nice. And comfortable. And Jason has finally allowed for some physical contact (because he has been avoiding any sort of contact like the plague and that is Tim's job).

He sighs, not releasing Jason's jacket (because he is not going anywhere).

"If you move," Tim says, groggy, "I'll know. And wake up. So stay here." God. He's tired.

"I'm not going anywhere, Babybird," Jason says quietly.

Tim rumbles his pleasure and yawns.

Then, he finally falls asleep.


	12. Chapter 12

**I would like to make note that I don't own anything that DC owns. And I also don't own Majora's Mask (which is mentioned in this chapter). ENJOY THIS CHAPTER. C:**

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><p>Ugly bruises are forming on Tim's arms. They are black or purple or greenish blue. Dick knows that it is from his practically daily training attempts. He always gets hit. He gets hit with rubber bullets, hits from simulated bad guys (and sometimes cuts from them too). He runs into things. The bruises say a lot about how much Tim wants to go out and be Red Robin again.<p>

Currently, Tim's back his pressed against the floor and his legs are up on the couch. He is holding a Nintendo GameCube controller in his hands, his eyes are focused on the television in front of him (because he is playing "Majora's Mask" of the _Legend of Zelda _franchise). Dick sits himself on the couch, next to Tim's legs and he can see from this angle that Tim's irises have started to fade. The color has changed from infinite-sky blue to a chalky blue-gray.

No one has mentioned it. (But Jason can't keep eye contact with him.)

"You've met with a terrible fate, haven't you?" Tim says, not looking away from the TV.

"Don't quote the Happy Mask Man at me," Dick nudges Tim's calf. "I didn't know you could play this game blind."

"I felt motivated to try after such a restful sleep two nights ago. I beat the Ocarina of Time blind last night."

"What happened to Jason reading to you?"

Tim's thumb pauses in the manipulation of the joystick for a moment. Then he continues on his way. "He didn't come home last night and the night before he was asleep before I got in bed." Dick notices the way Tim's voice hitches. He wants to pull Tim into a hug, but it would be really hard from this angle.

_You've met with a terrible fate, haven't you?_ Dick thinks that Tim would have been happier if he had been forced into the body of a Deku Scrub than having to live with being blind. (And not even Dick is comfortable mentioning it).

"You know, I don't even think Superman could play games blind. And he's had to fight using nothing but his ears before."

Tim fingers stop again. Then he yanks his legs off the couch and does a backwards roll. "That's it!"

"...what's it, Timmy?"

"Nothing." He shoves the controller at Dick. "Take this. Finish this temple please." He pulls his phone out of his pocket and makes his way to the Batcave. He cradles the phone in the crook of his arm, then, "Hey, Kon." Then Tim is out of earshot as the grandfather clock shuts behind him.

Damian leaps over the back of the couch to take a seat next to Dick. "What are you doing?"

"You've met with a terrible fate, haven't you?" Dick says, thinking more of Tim than Damian at that moment.

"Why are you quoting a haunted game at me?"

"Little D, it's not haunted."

"That is not what the Internet says, _Grayson_."

"Damian..." He heaves a sigh. Now he can't go after Tim. "This game isn't haunted."

But he'll find him later. Dick makes a note of it.

(It is worth noting that he ends up forgetting.)


	13. Chapter 13

**THIS CHAPTER FEATURES CONNER KENT. WOOOOOOOOOO. Woooo. But. Jay/Tim. Remember that, everyone. ;D ENJOY THIS CHAPTER. **

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><p>"Hey, Tim, what's up?"<p>

"Kon, have you ever fought blind?" Tim leans against a cold wall of the Batcave. He hopes nothing has changed placed in here too. It would. It would be the icing on the cake. (The Cake of Suck, is what it would be the icing on top of.)

"Quite a few times, actually." Tim can hear footsteps upstairs. He thinks that if he tries he can catch the sound of the joystick being moved by Dick's thumb and Damian's constant questions about Majora's Mask (seriously, that kid has lived under a rock. Maybe it's not such a bad thing that Dick took him in because there are just some things children should not live without). "Why?" He sounds distracted.

Oh. Right. Kon doesn't know everything about him anymore. "Uhm." Best put it in the old fashioned way. Timothy Drake's blunt approach had always worked on Conner before. "I'm blind."

"...what."

The approach never fails to grasp one hundred percent of anyone's attention. Including Conner Kent who has proven himself to be occasionally deficient in the attention area. "I'm blind, Conner. I took a fast-acting acid to the eyes, no scars, but no sight. I'm blind."

"Oh. Man. I'm so—"

"If you apologize to me I will never speak to you again. Or cut out your vocal cords. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Robin." Pause. "Oh, shit. I mean, yeah, Tim."

Good to know his leader voice still works. Good to know that Conner still knows it the leader voice.

"So. I need help. I need you to train me to fight blind."

"...Tim. Don't you have family there that can do that?" Tim thinks of his family. His family that loves him so much that they don't want him anywhere near the uniform again.

"...Kon. Please."

"Okay." Conner knows he's desperate. Tim knows he's desperate. It hasn't even been that long (at _all_) and he's already losing his mind. His mind is important and precious. He cannot let it go limp from lying around and being miserable. He cannot let his family baby him because they are afraid. Tim cannot afford to be afraid of this. "Okay. Does your boyfriend know you're calling me?" Bitter.

So he _does_ know about Jason then.

"No. No one knows. And no one will. They're not going to know until I can fight again and then I'll let them know I asked for help myself. Okay?"

Kon is silent. Then, "yeah. Okay. You're the boss. When do you want to start, Ray Charles?"

"Man. That was awful. Only blind guy you could think of?"

"I learned from you, Boss. And. Yeah. Only one."

"Tomorrow. Five o'clock Eastern Time. Warehouse District."

Kon heaves out a sigh. "Isn't that a walk from your house?"

"So? I'll be out before they even know it." Jason hasn't even really seen him in two days. Tim must be losing pigmentation in his eyes. (This is all going too fast, his life is slipping through his fingers and it hasn't even been two weeks and Tim is going crazy.

"If you say so."

"Ah, Kon?"

"Yeah?"

"...thanks. You know. For being my best friend."

"Dude, don't thank me. It's not like it's a chore to be your bro."

Tim smiles. "Okay. See you tomorrow."

"Of course. Bring your game face. Because tomorrow, I'm teacher. You can't boss me around."

"Noted."

(Plan KON enacted. Soon, everything will be back to normal and Jason want to see him again.)


	14. Chapter 14

**I swear this is a Jason/Tim fic. Promise. Conner's just an obligatory existence. :DDD Not that that's bad. Kon's a sweetheart too. Yayyyy bro bonding. Enjoy~**

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><p>Kon-El is many things. He is Superboy. He is a Titan. He is Tim's best friend. That, right now, is the most important thing. Because his best friend is blind. And <em>desperate<em>, because he had called to ask for help, Kon's help, and that meant that things were pretty bad for him.

"Kon," Tim's voice is across the city. "I. Uh. Can you. Come get me? Alley near the... ah. Gotham City Bank. I." A sigh. "Sorry."

It's not like Kon would say no. So instead of stopping by the Warehouse District, he swoops over to the Gotham City Back and sees Alvin Draper's hoodie. (Wow, he cannot believe Tim still has that ugly thing.) Kon scoops Tim up (and it is once again obvious how desperate Tim is because he doesn't complain about being carried like a girl).

Kon lets him down at the edge of the Warehouse District. No one's here. He assumes that's why Tim wanted to be here. And the minute his feet touch the ground he's all business, as if he had walked there himself and was arriving fashionably late. Tim has always been able to do that, brush stuff off like it really is no big deal. He pulls down his hood and fixes his hair. (He's always been a little prissy too.)

Then Tim looks at him, piercing as always, his eyes locking onto Kon's even though he can't see them. And Tim's eyes are now a washed out imitation of the color they used to be.

"Oh. Man. Your eyes." ...shit. He had said that out loud. Awesome_. Way to go Kon. Best friend ever. Golly, everyone wants to be bee-eff-effs with you_.

"So they have faded out?" He says this like he's not surprised. Offense doesn't even creep into his tone. Just resignation. "I figured. No one has been talking about my eyes for two weeks. But _now_ they just get really quiet when I look at them." He blows out a sigh and shoves his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. "Okay. Where do we start?"

"Have any of your senses accommodated to your lack of eyesight?"

"I have noticed my hearing has accommodated. I've been trying to listen to see if the assimilation process will go any faster but..."

Kon grins. "You always have to rush."

Tim smiles a small smile. "I guess so."

Kon taps him on the shoulder. "Okay. Show me what you got, Bossman."

Tim leaps, graceful as he has always been and tries to throw a punch. But, oddly, he misses. Or. Not so oddly. It's just that he doesn't—didn't—often miss. He does a forward handspring, tosses a kick. It's obvious by his expression that he's trying to listen for Kon. But he's floating. His boots don't connect with the pavement at all.

Third blow, Tim lands. Kon, with all his faith in his leader (former leader? No. Leader. Tim will always be his leader) he hadn't expected a blow. So when that blow lands Kon reacts on reflex (God he's the worst teacher ever) because he deflects and hits Tim, sending him skidding backwards on his back. Kon hears the wind rush out of Tim's lungs. Sees the grimace of pain a moment later.

"Tim, I am _so_—"

Tim is struggling to stand but still manages his _Robin _voice. "Don't apologize. Remember what I said about your vocal cords?"

Kon shuts up.

Tim wobbles. Eases back into a fighting stance.

"Let's go again."

_No_ sits on his lips. _I won't. _

But he will. He knows he will. Tim knows he will. Because Kon just cannot say no to Tim.


	15. Chapter 15

**Short interim of Jason's thoughts when the Manor figures out Tim is missing. Or. Training with Kon. That's why this chapter is so short. ENJOY IT ANYWAY. CCCC:**

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><p>Jason puts his phone to his ear. "Hello?"<p>

"Is Tim with you?" Dick. Worried. Takes Jason a moment to process it.

"No. He's supposed to be at home with you. I didn't take him anywhere." _Shit, I haven't even really spoken to him in two days._ Jason's the worst boyfriend ever. Jason knows it. But he just can't. Tim is just. _This is all my fault_. And he just can't look at it every day.

"Well. He isn't." What.

"What."

"Obviously Tim isn't here or I wouldn't ask if he was with you." Dick's getting snarky. And angry.

"So he's not at home? What the fuck have you been doing?"

"What have _you_ been doing, Boyfriend? I'm not his babysitter. Tim doesn't need babysitting, he needs company, and he needs you." There's murmuring in the background. "Bruce, Damian, and I are going to go look for him. Your help would be a appreciated."

There isn't a goodbye, just an implied demand. (He hates is when Dick demands things of him. Especially when he isn't working with all the information.)

Dick doesn't know that Jason was already out of the bar, walking the streets the moment he mentioned that Tim wasn't home. Panic had set in his stomach, gripped it, and squeezed. It's squeezing now, hard and rough and painful. Dick has the right to be angry. Jason's angry at himself. Hell, Dick's late to the party in anger. Jason's been angry and hating himself since Tim's accident.

(Jason is really good at hating himself. Probably second only to Tim in the self-hatred deparment.)

...fuck. _Fuck_. Tim's hating himself and Jason's hating himself and it's a regular miserable hate fest. And Jason caused it. Because he hasn't been home. (_Stop moping around, Jason. Tim needs you and here you are, wallowing in your own self-pity. Pussy.)_

Jason has to find Tim. What if. Fuck, what if something had happened to him while Jason was moping about? Jesus. Shit.

(_Wait are you waiting for, dumbass? Go. Get fucking moving._)


	16. Chapter 16

**Alfred is a sweetheart. So. I wrote this chapter. AND OHMYGOD, THE NEW RED HOOD AND THE OUTLAWS? SAD. SAD AND MISERABLE. JASON. JASON, BABY, I LOVE YOU. :C**

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><p>Alfred sighs, tidying up the manor after his family had just up and left it. A mess, mind you. A ridiculous mess. It is not uncommon, but the rush almost broke many priceless artifacts from Wayne history. Master Bruce would have deeply regretted it later, Alfred is sure.<p>

The front door opens, shining dying orange light on the foyer floor. Alfred turns, looking up from his dusting. Lo and behold, young Mater Timothy walks through the door, his sightless eyes flickering around suspiciously. Alfred strangles a sigh before it is born and waits for Master Timothy to enter the living room.

He does.

"Hello, Master Timothy." He doesn't jump, but it appears that he wants to.

"Hi, Alfred. Where is everyone?"

"Out searching for you, sir." Guilt flashes across his features for a moment, his chalky eyes expressing something deep and untouchable. Alfred does not pry. That is not (exactly) his job. "Might I ask where you have been?"

"Sure. Kon was teaching me to fight. Without my eyes." Alfred has guessed as much. He had assumed that Master Timothy had either gone to cope with his blindness or he had gone searching for Master Jason. (They have not spoken in two days and that worries Alfred. Both boys are too sensitive to be alone and too terrified to mention it to one another.) Timothy looks away for a moment. Then strikes Alfred with an intense look that he has always been able to manage (even when he is on debilitating pain medicines or sick with the flu). "Will you help me with something? Since no one's here?"

"Of course. What do you need, Master Timothy?"

He sheds the hoodie that had been Alvin Draper's. And then he removes his shirt. A large, purple bruise creates a thick line across his abdomen. His back is almost skinned, only lightly bleeding but oozing a clear fluid.

"Oh. My."

"Uhm. Yes. Kon got a little." Pause. "He didn't expect me to get a hit so. When I did he." Sigh. "He freaked a little and sort of. Shot be backwards."

"Are you sure that he is the wisest choice, then, to train you?"

Tim smiles, a wry thing. "I'm sure. Just a little mishap. That's all. Can you help with, ah, this? It smarts."

Alfred sighs. "Of course, sir. To the Cave with us." Tim leads. Alfred follows (just in case he happens to fall. Alfred adjusts furniture quite often these days). "However, next time you train, might I recommend one of extensive tunnels that branch from the Cave? It would be closer to home and your family would fret less."

"...sure. I'll just need to tell Kon." He hops up on the table where Alfred as tended more wounds than he likes to remember but cannot ever forget. "Can you not tell the others?"

"I am quite good at keeping secrets, sir."

"I know. I just. I want to let you know that it's a secret. Because I want to be able to fight before I tell them what I've been doing." He wrings his hands as Alfred applies salve to the bruise. Timothy winces. "If I can hold my own again, Jason won't feel so bad and then he'll—" Tim chokes off his thought. Silences himself. Alfred moves to Master Timothy's back.

"I will keep it a secret, sir. When you're down here with Master Conner, I will let the others know not to disturb you."

"...thank you Alfred. You're." Deep sigh. Tears could be there. But they do not surface. "You're the best."

"I am well aware of this, Master Timothy."

He grins.


	17. Chapter 17

**JASON WALLOWING IN SELF-PITY AND JUST OVER ALL BEING PRECIOUS ALERT. Enjoy this chapterrrrrr. :DDD**

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><p>Jason is terrified. He hasn't even told Tim <em>I love you<em> yet and he wants to. Wanted to. God, he is an awful boyfriend. The worst boyfriend. And he hasn't spoken to Tim in two days and _fuck_. The doors of the manor loom before him, a symbol of his failure to find Tim. Tim, who is blind and alone and _Jason did this to him, fuck_—

"Little Wing, it will be okay. We'll find him."

Damian and Bruce say nothing, brooding behind him and Dick as they open the front door to the manor.

And. There is.

_Tim_.

Tim is just playing chess with Alfred. His eyes on the chessboard and he's feeling all the pieces for their orientation and type and. It's. Intriguing to watch but.

_Tim was fucking here the whole time?_

"_Drake_, what are you doing here?"

Tim looks up. Alfred just makes his move. "I. Sort of live here? I mean, I have an apartment but since no one thinks I'm fit enough to be there, I do sort of—"

"That's not what he meant, Tim," Dick says and all of them are crowding the living room. Jason can see Tim noticing because his shoulders tense like he's being hovered over, which he is. It's probably bothering him like nothing else. Dick's tone probably set the tension deeper. "Where _were_ you?"

"Out?"

"And you did not think to tell anyone?" Bruce. Tim's shoulders hunch forward. Damian leaves the room, anger rolling off of him in rage. Alfred says nothing, just watches. If shit hits the fan, Alfred will know what to do (he always does).

"I'm not a prisoner." Tim says. His voice is quiet and angry. "I can go where I please. I'd appreciate it," he runs his fingers over the bishop and moves it, "if you all would stop treating me like an invalid and start treating me like Tim again."

Jason hears it, the catch. Dick blows out a breath and leaves the room as well. Bruce disappears too, but doesn't make a sound. Tim's shoulders hunch forward even more.

Jason doesn't leave. He has spent the better part of four hours hunting Tim down. So he lifts Tim up by the armpits (Tim has always been thinner than he needs to be) and Tim's feet knock into the chess set. Alfred smiles, and cleans up the game. He still doesn't say anything (he was probably there just to make Tim feel like _Tim_, since none of them are doing a decent job).

Jason tosses him up, just a little, and catches him, one arm under his knees, the other supporting his back.

And then Alfred is gone.

"I was looking for you."

Tim crosses his arms. "Alfred told me."

"I was _looking _for you for _four fucking hours._"

"...yeah?" Tim's trying not to sound affected. But he is. Jason can hear it. And when Tim looks up at him with those chalky eyes, Jason crumbles a little on the inside.

"So, I am going to carry you up to your room, read you some Frost, and cuddle with you." Yes, _cuddle._ Shut the _fuck_ up because Jason is just listing out his plans and they are _damn_ good ones. "And I'm going to make sure you don't feel like an invalid, but a princess, because I know very well you could walk yourself up these stairs. But I just want to touch you. That okay with you?"

Tim blushes and it's so fucking cute and _damn_ Tim had almost given him a heart attack today.

"...can you shower first? You smell like alcohol. And cigarettes."

"Only if you picture me naked while I'm showering."

"_Jay-_son." But there's laughter in his voice, no matter how stern his face looks.

"...yes, baby?"

Tim sighs and points toward the stairs. "Alright. Carry me, and then shower. And you'd better read extra pretty because you've been shirking your duties." Tim probably has no idea how much is hurts to hear that, but he's fucking right.

"You got it, Princess."

(Tim's breathy laughter is worth the hollowness in his stomach.)


	18. Chapter 18

**This chapter is Damian just being cute because. I wanted it. And since I'm the author I can do what I want. So. ENJOY. THIS. SHAMELESS LITTLE DAMIAN BLURB. :D**

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><p>Damian finds Drake coming from the Batcave. He has been spending a lot of time down there and Pennyworth has been keeping everyone from it when Drake is down there. Everyone. Father. Todd. Grayson. <em>Him<em>.

It's complete and utter nonsense, but whenever Damian complains Pennyworth just raises an eyebrow that says _I do not think that you can get past me if you tried, sir._ Damian probably could. But. What fun would it be to beat up an old man anyway (not counting Grandfather. Ra's)?

But today, Drake is favoring his left side, as if he has gotten beaten up on a patrol. Which is ridiculous because he hasn't been out on patrol in three weeks. Damian hides his—gift—thing, behind his back. Though, Drake couldn't see it anyway, so it is a waste of effort, really, but. It doesn't matter. It's the thought of keeping the present a secret that matters, Damian thinks.

"Ah, Drake?"

His eyes flicker to Damian (and they are almost all gray now, the light only reflects a little blue and it has to be _just right_). "Yes?" His voice is a wheeze for a moment. He clears his throat. "Yes?" This time it is clear and makes sense and is everything.

"Can you read braille?"

"Yeah. Bruce taught me. Some codes have been sent in braille before and—why?" Tim smirks. It is cold. He is still sore about the search that went on for him and the family's reaction to his appearance in the living room.

Damian thinks that this gift—thing—whatever is as good an apology as any.

He moves forward as Drake shuts the clock behind him as an afterthought. Damian nudges Drake's right hand with the book he had purchased on the way home from school today. He takes it and runs his fingers over the bumps on the cover. And he blinks. His eyes look more blue for a split second, almost, as if the light was _perfect_ and he smiles.

"This title is in Chinese."

"It is a book of Asian poetry. About. Nighttime and cats and rivers and things. There is nothing about coping with blindness, but—"

And Drake lays the book on top of the grandfather clock, rather precariously perched if Damian were to day anything, but he doesn't because Drake pulls him into a hug. A warm, tight hug and he even rocks Damian back and forth—once, twice, three times—before letting go.

And then he ruffles Damian's hair. Damian feels a blush rise to his cheeks and he is glad that Drake is blind right now—that is an _awful_ thing to think.

"Thank you. Damian. This means." Drake swallows and smiles. "This means _a lot_ actually. And. Don't mind being grateful that I'm blind. I can feel your blush all the way over here."

"_Tt_. I am doing no such thing. Blushing is only for women and _you_."

Tim grins even wider. "Okay. Whatever you say. I'm going to go _read_," and the joy in that one word is so overpowering that Damian almost takes back what he had said about blushing and women and Drake. "I'm going to go read about cats and rivers and night and things."

Drake gives one more quick hug before scampering off (yes, scampering). He is still favoring his left side. Damian will ask later. For now, he will simply wrap himself in the feeling of that hug because it is the first hug he has ever really gotten that had not been from Grayson.

And it is. It is nice.

But it is also something he will never tell anyone about. Can't have people thinking he is _nice_ and tolerates hugging.

(Though. Maybe. Hugs from Father would be nice, too.)


	19. Chapter 19

**SORRY. HAPPY LATE THANKSGIVING. THANKFUL FOR ALL MY REVIEWERS. And. Shameless advertisements here: check out "kuyeng_thl" and "avanalae" on livejournal! :DDDD They are really quite good. Like. Whoa. And while you're there, you can read more of my girlfriends!verse stuff, because that's where it will be from here on out (zuzubean is me). **

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><p>Tim has gotten good. Really good. Well, he's always been really good, but now he's getting really good and <em>blind<em>. Kon's feet never touch the ground, that would be like telling Tim _here I am_. (Which, admittedly, is sort of what he wants to do—no _wait_, stop it Kon.)

Tim lands a shot at his jaw. It's a tap, because Tim would break his knuckles on Kon's face, but Kon knows how much power can be behind that fist. It's a little scary and a little cool, because, hey, Tim's human. Kon doesn't really know _any_ humans has powerful as Tim (except maybe Batman, but he doesn't think Batman could fight this well blind).

Another to the gut. Tim bounces off the wall and would have landed a knee into Kon's crotch is he hadn't floated up to where his hair was brushing the rocky roof of some cave under the GCPD building.

"Hey, _whoa_, Tim. That was really close to my _important parts_, so—" Tim comes out of a roll with a grin on his face. (Things have been going really well at home, Kon guesses. Especially with Jason. Tim's been smiling at their training sessions.)

"Sorry, Kon."

"Yeah, I'm sure you are." He puts his feet on the ground and just _looks_. Tim pushes his hair away from his face (_damn_) and looks back. Grey-blue. Chalky. But they are still Tim's eyes. Kon would recognize them anywhere at anytime, he is certain.

"Why are you staring?"

"How can you even tell?" But Tim could always tell, even before he lost his sight.

"That is a stupid question." Tim is smiling (_double damn_).

"You just look good." Kon grins. Tim can probably feel that too. "Can't help but look." Tim scoffs, crosses his arms. But the smile stays. It's just like with the Titans. A flirt here, a smile there, and Kon was _so close_ to being there—

But then he died.

And Tim is dating Jason, so he is totally unavailable. (Tim is also oblivious to any _actual_ flirtation, because while he is a genius, his grasp of social cues is subpar.) Kon is safe. Safe and secret. (But, ha, take that Jason, Tim had asked for Kon's help first. What does that say?)

It says that Tim didn't want Jason to know that he intends to go back on patrol. That's what is says.

Okay?

Okay.

_Okay._

...okay.

"Hey, Kon, I have to go. Alfred's making dinner tonight and _all_ of us are going to eat together like, ah, _the family we are_, Alfred says. So." Tim tilts his head and smiles. Kon thinks he's dying again.

"Yeah, man. Catch you tomorrow?"

"Naturally. Though I think tomorrow we need to work in Gotham. I need to get used to city sounds that aren't echoing around in this Cave."

"Where do you want to meet?"

"Alfred will drop me by the Gotham City Bank. Okay?"

"Yeah. Okay. Later Tim."

"Thanks Kon. For. You know."

Kon smiles. Tim smiles too. (God, that _smile_.) "No problem. Any time. What are best friends for?"

_They are for sitting miserably in the friend zone. _

(But, Kon's okay with that. Totally, totally okay with it.)


	20. Chapter 20

**I'M SORRY, DAMIAN, I AM DRAGGING YOU ALONG, BUT. BUT. BUT. YOU NEED TO GET OUT OF MY HEAD. (Jay/Tim is my OTP but I'm starting to ship Tim/everyone.) And I knowwww I've already got Kon in on the Tim-loving bandwagon. But. But. ...ENJOY THIS. **

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><p>Drake is in the library.<p>

And he is reading Damian's book.

_Drake_ is _reading_ the book that _Damian_ got him.

It makes his stomach flutter and jump. It makes him giddy and happy. It makes his face heat up and cool down all at once. It makes him want to run and hide. It makes him want to sit on the couch with him. It makes him want to tell someone that _Drake_ is reading the book that _Damian_ had gotten for him.

It also makes Damian want to stab himself in the eye. Because he should _not_ be feeling this elated just because Drake is reading the book of Chinese poetry that Damian had purchased.

(Is that getting too repetitive?)

"I can _hear_ you, Damian. You're scuffing your feet against the floor." Tim looks up from the book of poetry (that _Damian_ had bought him) and raises an eyebrow. "What do you need?"

"Nothing." Damian says, all business. But, then, "do you like the book?"

Tim smiles then. And his stomach and body do all those things (as seen above). Damian wants to stab himself in the eye (_more than once_). And then maybe stab Drake too. (No, he can't do that, it makes his heart twist and tumble and _oh god_—.)

"I like it very much." Tim shuts the book on his thumb, marking the place, turning his body to more fully face Damian (and he is flattered by that, _but he isn't, shut up_). "There are all _really_ good poems." He snickers. "The ones about cats make me think of you."

"Why on earth do you associate me with _cats?_" Damian sits on the couch next to him.

"Damian. You do what you want, when you want, and get attention when you want it. You're _almost_ as fickle as Selina." Tim looks up at the ceiling then back at Damian. "Don't tell her I said that."

"I will consider it when I need a favor." Damian replies. He looks at Tim's book (yes, the one that Damian bought) and asks, "which poem is your favorite?"

"Well. It changes every time I read it. But right now it's 'Thoughts on a Still Night' by Li Bai."

"What is it about?"

"I can read it to you."

Damian scoffs. "If you _want _to. I lack something productive to do until patrol tonight." _Yes, please, read it to me._

Damian's thoughts do not sound like him.

Tim slips his left arm around Damian's shoulder and pulls him into the crook of Tim's body. His left hand ghosts across the page. "Before my bed, the moon is shining bright, I think that it is frost upon the ground."

Damian is getting those feelings again.

(He is getting over the urge to stab himself in the eye.)


	21. Chapter 21

**Hope you guys enjoy this chapter. ._. It's probably my only one for today. Thanks to everyone who reviews. And to everyone who likes Damian's wittle crush on Tim. (I meant to say BIG CRUSH. Sorry.)**

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><p>Two months and one day. Jason had started dating Tim two months and one day from today. (Bet no one knows that Jason keeps count of that. Hell, <em>Jason<em> is surprised at himself for knowing.) He likes that he knows exactly when he started dating Tim.

And it had been an arbitrary "dating." Going out to eat after patrols, lounging around each other's apartment, nothing official.

(Until, of course, "Are we _together_, Jason?" "Do you want to be?" "Do _you_ want to be?" "Yeah." "Yes." "Then it looks like we're together.")

It has been three weeks and six days since Tim went blind (or, rather, since he had his eyesight _stolen_ from him. That motherfucker is _dead_.) Three weeks and six days Jason has been tearing himself up on the inside (and thus making Tim miserable in the process, way to fucking _go_, Jason).

He can't stop thinking about it. That night. (First _real _date, after one month of arbitrarily dating.) Tim's hiss as the acid attacks his eyes. His declaration of _I can't see, I can't _see—

He can't stop thinking about it, even as he sheds his boots and gets in bed to start reading to Tim.

Tonight, Tim is sitting up, legs crossed, leaving space enough for Jason. It is odd that he is sitting up. When Jason gets settles into his place, Tim reaches for him, his fingers skimming across Jason's face.

"Tim, what are you—"

"_Shh_." Tim's thumbs are on his lips. "I'm looking at your face." His thumbs run across Jason's lips. "Stop frowning, your skin will wrinkle." His fingers move up his cheeks. Jason closes his eyes and Tim's fingers dance across his eyelids and smooth out the frown lines that are probably marring his forehead.

"Do I still look good, Babybird?"

Tim tugs on his cheek. "Of course. But stop frowning." As Tim takes his face in both hands, Jason opens his eyes. Tim's own chalky eyes are boring into his. "Jason?"

"Mm?"

"I love you."

Jason sputters.

"What?" Tim sounds like he's on the verge of being offended. Or hurt.

"_Nothing_. Just. Fuck you." Tim's eyebrows go up. "_No_, wait. I mean. Fuck you, because I wanted to be the one to say it first." And in that second, Jason isn't thinking about Tim's accident, or the result. He's leaning forward to catch Tim's lips and hold them. Then he whispers against Tim's lips, "I love you too. _Overachiever._"

Tim smiles. (It's fucking _beautiful_.)

And now Jason has another date to keep track of.


	22. Chapter 22

**Bedtime. I think. Maybe. Perhaps. Enjoy this chapter everyone! :D**

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><p>Tim can hear everything. He can hear Gotham and feel her in his bones. He lands several blows on Conner, and Conner lands none on him. He can navigate all the alleys (he even walked to the GCPD building <em>by himself<em>), leap to all the rooftops, and avoid pedestrians.

Tim smiles. He smiles and his heart _sings._ (He had told Jason he loved him, and now he is ready to go out on patrol again, which means now he is ready to go _home_.)

"_Damn, _Tim, you've gotten good."

"I've always been good. Now, I'm better."

"Ohh, cocky, Rob." Tim snorts and lies back on the rooftop and pictures what the sky looks like. Gray-white clouds on a gray-yellow sky. Gotham doesn't actually look like that, not really. The sky is sometimes blue, when the clouds aren't covering it. But Tim has always thought of Gotham's sky as sickly and yellow. (It is the way that America depicts Soviet Russia on television.)

"Thank you, Kon. By the way."

"Pfft. No problem. It's what I'm here for. Overcoming blindness and stuff."

"Well. It means a lot."

"I can tell, by the way you keep _thanking _me."

"Tch, _fine_. I'll keep it to myself." Kon laughs.

And then silence sits between them. It gives Tim time to listen to the cars and the people below. His hearing has gotten to the point that he can hear individual conversations below him. He wonders how Kon manages because can hear conversations for _miles_. (But, then again, he has probably mastered selective hear—)

_Oh god._ Those. Are lips. And they are _not_ Jason's because Jason—

"_Holy fuck_. Tim?"

—is right there.

And the lips are gone.

"Holy fuck!" Tim sits up. Jason's voice is like glass. Cracking class. Splitting into pieces. "I'm—_fuck_, Tim—I—" And there is a choked noise.

"Jason, wait—how did you—what—"

But Jason's boots have already retreated. Tim is standing and _how does this happen to me, what did I do to deserve this_. He whirls on Conner. It feels like his chest is about to burst, split apart. Tears are stinging his eyes. _Ohgodohgod._

"Kon, _why would you do that?_"

"I'm sorry! You were just—" He stops. Tim can almost feel his wild gesturing. "I couldn't help it." His voice is small and reedy.

"We'll talk about this later." This must be what an out-of-body experience feels like. Knowing the emotions are there but not being able to touch them. Tim runs.

And leaps. He hits a fire-escape harder than he had intended but works his way down the building. He calls for Jason, hollowness expanding in his chest.

"Oh, excuse me!" He feels his sneakers skid on the pavement with the force of his stop.

"Uhm, yes?"

"Are you looking for the man with the white steak of hair? He was wearing a leather jacket and combat boots..."

"I'm looking for him." He tries to make himself less desperate. He tries, but he knows it is carrying into his voice. "Where did he go?"

A hand gently grabs his elbow and tugs him to the right. "He went this way. He seemed very upset, and with all that emotion going on, he probably didn't go very far. You know how running while emotionally compromised can take a toll and all that, I'm sure."

Tim senses walls. He's in an alley. (How does he get himself into these things.) His gut tightens a moment before he feels the metal pipe connect with the back of his head.

Unconsciousness grabs at him with heavy fingers. But the scenery doesn't change.

It's still a neverending blackness.


	23. Chapter 23

**Oh shit, where's Tim? No one knows. ENJOY THIS CHAPTER.**

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><p>Bruce sips at his coffee, lounging on the couch for the first time in years. Even though Jason came home an hour ago, drunk out of his mind. Even though Tim is out (Alfred had told him so). Even though Gotham is quite possibly going to hell in a hand basket (but it is always that way).<p>

Bruce is _relaxed._

"Excuse me, sir," Alfred walks into the living room, pressing the cordless phone against his shoulder, "there is a gentleman on the phone for you. He assures me that this phone call is urgent."

Bruce places his mug on a coaster on the coffee table, holding his hand out for the phone. Alfred places it in his palm and leaves to answer the doorbell. Perhaps it is Tim, arriving home from his evening out.

"This is Bruce Wayne."

"We have your son." The voice is male, distinguished. And, possibly, familiar.

"Pardon?" Bruce asks. He hears a commotion coming from behind him and turns his head slightly to see Kon-El in his peripheral vision.

"Is Tim here?" He hears Kon ask.

"We have your son," the man repeats.

"Is Tim here?" Kon's voice rises an octave. Bruce does not respond, because he knows that the Superboy heard him.

"I can account for all my children, thank you." Bruce replies. Dick is in his room, staying here as long as Tim is here, to watch over his blind brother. Jason is in his room, unconscious and hopefully not dead from alcohol poisoning. Damian is in his room, sleeping off a patrol from the night before. And Tim is out in Gotham City (and Bruce doesn't have the heart to say no to his requests to go out anymore, not after his offense toward being treated like an invalid).

"Are you sure, Mister Wayne?" The voice becomes sinister and amused. "Because I am quite certain we have one of your children. The blind one. Timothy." No. No, that's not possible. Tim's blindness isn't known by anyone outside the family. Which means— "Oh, and do tell Mister Todd that Tim here is terribly sorry. It is written all over the poor boy's face, if not in his eyes."

Bruce's throat closes. He hears Kon make a strangled sound.

"Well, I will call you back at a later time, Mister Wayne. I just wanted you to know that we had someone of yours. I hope that you are always by your phone. It would be a shame if you were not available. Tim might suffer for that."

The line goes dead.

"I assume," Bruce says, standing and facing Superboy, "that Tim isn't with you."

"No. He isn't. He isn't and he's not at his apartment or the library or with Steph or Cass or Barbara. And he's not here. And that conversation—someone has Tim. It's all my _fault._"

"Explain." Clark will not forgive him if Superboy dies again, but. Bruce has a short fuse when it comes to the Robins.

"I, uh. Well, I've been training him to fight blind because he wants to go back out and do his hero thing, which I think is pretty cool, and he wants you guys to respect him as _one of you_, I guess. But yesterday we were on a roof and I sort of kissed him—"

"You _what?_" Dick.

(Bruce isn't relaxed anymore.)

"_I kissed Tim_, and he froze and didn't kiss back and in fact he was probably really upset and then Jason shows up," Conner keeps going, without pausing for breath, "and freaks out and Tim runs after him and then I don't see him again. So. This is my fault because I made him run off."

Dick blinks. "What. What's your fault, besides Jason's drunken stupor?"

"Tim is missing." Bruce says. It surprises him that his voice is so steady. He heads towards the Cave, beckoning for Conner and Dick to follow him. "We need to begin searching for him."

_We have your son._

Bruce's stomach sinks. He cannot fail to save another son.


	24. Chapter 24

**RELATIONSHIP DRAMA. And, oh, another phone call. Oh no, oh no. ENJOY. **

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><p>Jason's head is throbbing in time with his rage. He doesn't move his eyes from Conner Kent, even though Dick is the one currently speaking to him. Or had spoken to him. He's not talking now. Jason blinks once, trying to let his head get used to the brightness of the computer in the Batcave. It's killing his head.<p>

"What." Jason's throat itches and his voice sounds scratchy. Superboy is starting to wither under his gaze.

"Tim has been appropriated. And Kon—Kon kissed Tim. And it was sort of a stolen thing." This is the third time Dick has had to repeat himself. But Jason keeps _sinking_ into himself. He keeps seeing Tim and the _clone_ kissing and it hurts because.

Because Tim had said _I love you._ To _Jason._

"Jason, God, listen to me." Dick is standing in from of him now, taking all the rays from his stare where Conner deserves them. "Tim is _gone. _Tim has been _taken from us._ Do you get it?"

The phone rings. Bruce reaches for it, not participating in the conversation.

"Bruce Wayne speaking." There is silence. He turns, holding out the phone. "Jason. This call is for you." Dick takes the phone and hands it to Jason. He grabs it, a mechanical motion.

"Jason fucking Todd. How the fuck may I help you today?" Bruce begins tracing the call.

"Hello, Jason." A man. Suave sounding. Jason wants to punch this fucker in the face, just by the way his voice sounds. "Have you heard?"

"Heard what?"

"We have your boyfriend."

Jason's heart finally seizes, twitches and trembles. "What?"

"This is very reminiscent of my conversation with Bruce earlier today. We have your boyfriend. Did Bruce tell you that the poor boy is sorry? He says it was a Superboy initiated kiss. I'm sure you know what that means, and I can obviously guess."

"Where is Tim?"

"Well, this wouldn't be at all fun if I told you where he was. You and Mister Wayne have no sense of the thrill. I know he is having someone trace the call. Good luck. Oh, and rest assured, it is not our goal to kill young Timothy. We have other plans, you see."

He hears the phone _click_ and the dial tone drones in his ear.

He finally feels sick. Dick's repetitions finally hit him.

And this is a combination of faults as well. Conner had kissed him (and, from the bits and pieces that Jason _had_ heard, Tim had frozen, hadn't even seen it coming). But Jason had assumed the worse (and he is still harping on it, because what gave _Conner Kent_ the right to kiss his beloved? Oh. God. He sounds like _Talia_).

"What are we going to do?" His voice has gone from scratchy, to terrified.

"We are going to find him," Damian says simply. Jason doesn't feel that confident.

"_We have other plans, you see."_


	25. Chapter 25

**Tim. Oh. I'm. Um. I'm sorry about this guys. Tim's miserable. Again. Enjoy this anyway, yes?**

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><p>Tim's internal clock had shut off about a day and a half ago, after he had woken up the third time. So far, all that he has gathered is that they like to beat him (he feels the bruises everywhere) and they like chains. His wrists are manacled, chained to a post in the center of what feels like a drafty basement. His legs are in the same situation, only they have two feet of chain spanning between them.<p>

He is shirtless. The floor is cold, icy tendrils grabbing at his joints.

"I think this is the point where the evil masterminds tell you the plan." He calls this man Arrogance. He sounds haughty whenever he speaks.

"I believe you're correct." This one is Cowardice. He submits to Arrogance at every available opportunity. Tim thinks that they are brothers, from the way they interact, but he does not know for sure.

Tim looks up to where he know Arrogance's face to be. A fist connects with his jaw. (He has felt it coming, but he has nowhere else to go.)

"Your eyes offend me. Shut them." Tim doesn't. Gets another fist to the jaw. Instead of shutting his eyes, he looks away.

"You made my eyes this way. I think you should see your handy work." They had gone over this the day he had been taken from the alley.

"_Silence_, Wayne-brat." There is a pause. "That was only the beginning of the plan, you know." He hears the shifting of feet and feels Arrogance sit down. "Bruce Wayne ruined us for trying to help his company. Wayne Enterprises already sells weapons. We tried to participate in chemical weapons." Arrogance grabs Tim's hair and _pulls_ his head up. "And you know what Bruce Wayne did? He fired us. _Blacklisted_ us. No one will hire us now. We are poor and we are miserable and it is all the fault of Bruce Wayne. We were world renowned chemists. _World renowned._"

Tim would have commented on how that they were the ones that got themselves into that mess and that doesn't explain what they plan to do with him. But with Arrogance's grip on his hair, he does not say anything.

"And we want him to pay for ruining us." Cowardice says. Arrogance growls.

"Indeed. So we made our chemical, as I told you, and blinded you. And we have been watching you. We do not know _exactly_ what transpired between you and Jason Todd, but it was the perfect opportunity to swipe you." Arrogance gets really close. He can feel the man's breath on his face. "And, through you, we will ruin Bruce Wayne." Arrogance drops his head. Tim doesn't let it hit the floor. "Because, you see, we don't want to kill you. That will hurt him, yes, but not in the right way. We intend to give you back." He can hear the smile. "We intend to give you back _ruined._ We are going to return you, but you will _never be the same._"

Fear settles somewhere under his ribcage. It is the first time he has felt fear since he was captured. Arrogance grabs the manacles on his wrist and pulls Tim, holding his arms out in front of him, taut.

He feels Arrogance's palm ghost across his left elbow.

And then the man snaps his arm at the elbow, bending it in _opposite direction_.

Tim screams.


	26. Chapter 26

**I'm sorry Tim. I really am. But there is just so much _feeling_ in me (Thank you, Miss K.) AND TIM HAS TO SUFFER FOR IT. BECAUSE HIS SADNESS IS BEAUTIFUL. :C**

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><p>They have fitted him with a blindfold. Tim had tried to remove it the first day it had been implemented (three sleeps ago). It had gotten him kicked in the ribs, hard enough to pop two of them. <em>Your eyes offend me<em>, Arrogance had said. _They offend everyone. They are a horror to look on_.

They are. Tim knew that before this. Just no one had bothered to tell him. He keeps the blindfold on now (after two more attempts at removing it).

(He also knows they are injecting him with something that is making is mind more _pliant._ But because his mind is more pliant, he cannot find the motivation to do much about it.)

"They ask about you when we call," Tim hears Cowardice sit down before him. He tries, weakly, to kick out, but the chains just manage to make him stop short.

He is thirsty (he has had half a bottle of water) and he is hungry (he has not been fed at all). Tim tilts his head towards Cowardice. His forehead hurts when he raises an eyebrow. He thinks there is a cut there, but if there is, he doesn't know. Everywhere hurts, so if his forehead hurts that's to be expected.

"They ask where you are." Cowardice is quiet. "But they never ask about you. It is sad, I think."

"Why." Nails on a chalkboard. That's what his voice reminds him of. Nails on a chalkboard, coming from his own vocal cords. It bothers him.

"Because they seem to think that other things take priority over you. They keep asking where you are, as if when they know, they can get you any time you like." A sigh seems to touch Tim's bare back. He doesn't like it (and there are bruises and gashes there too). "But you are not their priority. I like to think, that if I were taken, my brother would come for me." So they are brothers. "I would certainly search for him."

Tim knows, somewhere, that this is a psychological game. He is just saying this, of course, to hurt him.

(It's working—)

But he sounds so sincere about this.

"If you were taken from my family," Cowardice continues, "I would tear the world apart to find you."

Tim doesn't know what to say to that. He thinks that, if this is true, then Tim must have done something to anger them. He had obviously hurt Jason. He has probably disappointed Bruce. Damian has almost never been kind to him in the first place. Dick has had to put up with him on more levels than most people would ever find acceptable.

He feels the coolness of a needle touch his unbroken arm and his nerves jump in anticipation.

"But, then again, perhaps you are the cause of this indifference. Maybe you are worthless to your family. My brother is not worthless. Neither am I." Cowardice pushes the plunger and coolness flows through Tim's veins to his head. The pain disappears and his head swims. He feels himself sinking and Jason's face hovers in his vision.

It is almost as if he can see again.

(Even worthless people have dreams.)


	27. Chapter 27

**I love the name Carson. I'm quite upset that I gave the name to this guy. Quite upset. Enjoy this though! And pity Tim. Pity him hard. Because I'm just awful. Poor Timbaby. **

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><p>Carson Williams watches Timothy struggle against the chains, rattling them against the cement floor of the cellar. But he has yet to touch the blindfold again. James had made sure he wouldn't ever touch it. The suggesting drug in Timothy's veins makes him susceptible to suggestions and James has always beena forceful suggester.<p>

But Tim is still struggling, even with his broken arm (and the skin is healing around the exposed bone). The tugging is disturbing the giant wooden pole in the center of the cellar. James will be very upset if Timothy tears it down. That is, however, quite unlikely. His bones are showing through his skin. It is rather depressing. But worthless people should suffer. Anyone who does not provide a service. And Timothy is a rich child that basks off of weapon sales. But not biological weapon sales.

Carson will always be useful. James always says so. So that means he will never end up like Timothy, alone and unwanted. (James always talks about how unwanted the poor boy is. It's almost as if he's giving him to Carson.)

It is quite a shame that Timothy is not useful to his family like Carson is to James. Perhaps if the drug in his system makes him agreeable enough, James will let Carson keep him. It will be excellent. Timothy's records imply him to be very bright, very secluded. Just the type of person their family needs.

"I can hear you." Timothy's voice trembles toward him. "I can hear you breathing. _Fuck off._ Leave me alone." He tilts his head back and bears his teeth, exposing his perfect throat.

Well. It has been thirteen days. Perhaps Timothy will come around in thirteen more. After all, it doesn't look like his family is coming.

"That is rather hard to do, Timothy. I rather like you. Avoiding you is difficult. However, it seems your family has mastered the avoidance technique." Carson begins backing away, toward the staircase (he does has to ask James about keeping Timothy, because it's beginning to plague him).

Before he shuts the basement door, he hears Timothy's hoarse cry of "_What _family? Who are you taking about?" He hears the chains rattle again, as if Timothy is crawling toward where he thinks the staircase is located. "What do you mean?" Timothy's voice cracks as the door clicks shut behind him.

Carson also needs to tell James that the drugs are working.


	28. Chapter 28

**FINALLY. Finally. I've updated this. I wasn't sure where to go with it and a particularly nasty Anon on tumblr made me stop writing the next chapter of Sortis. So I thought I'd update this. Spoiler, guys. Tim is going to be found next chapter.**

**DEAD OR ALIVE? Who knows. ENJOY THIS CHAPTER. ALL OF YOU. And sorry for not replying to any of the Canitculum reviews. FF . net won't let me and it's making me mad. But I love all of my reviewers and all the reviews made me so happy, you have no idea. Thank you all!  
><strong>

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><p>"I've got a lead," Dick lifts his head from his forearms, a piece of paper sticking to his forehead. Jason's voice his hoarse, stubble shadowing his chin. Damian starts from his sleeping place against the wall. Bruce is already hovering over Jason's shoulder, stubble of his own decorating his face. In fact, the only one <em>not<em> possessing some sort of facial hair is Damian.

(Alfred has his moustache, but is otherwise clean shaven.)

"What did you find, Jason?" Dick is up and over Jason's other shoulder. Damian squeezes in in front of him. Kon hovers over all of them, scratching at his stubbled cheek.

"There is this apartment building on 21st and Catacomb. It was abandoned, but someone started paying for electricity three weeks ago." Dick swallows because Tim had been taken fourteen days ago. "The bills have been paid, but the name changes on each check. There's a large basement where a captive would be great. The surveillance cameras at the corner of the street? These two," screen shots of two men, at different times, "are brothers. Presumably coming from that apartment building. They are never seen together, meaning one is always at the house. More often than not, the tall one is the one out and about."

"It's worth investigating," Bruce says, skeptically, "but—"

"Not fucking finished." Jason's voice is flat, as if he hadn't just cursed at Batman. "These two brothers are James and Carson Williams. You fired them, Bruce, for something relating to their chemical research. Both are kind of nuts, from psychological profiles made of them when they were kids and when they were hired by your company. Carson leans heavily on his brother, does anything he asks. Don't really know why, don't really fucking care. But they're crazy and they more 'n likely hate you. Motive. Holding cell. We need to check this out."

Dick is about to volunteer, but Damian beats him to the punch. "I will go," he says, crossing his arms and cocking out his hip. "I will go now and take a beacon with me to notify everyone if I locate Drake."

"No," Bruce replies, immediate and snappish, "it's too dangerous for you."

"I am silent. I am an assassin, Father. I am small, quick, efficient. I can go in and find him. Not to mention that I am not blind or under extreme emotional duress as Drake was at the time of his capture. I can find him. You all can even hover outside and be there right away."

"Damian, I forbid—"

"He's right," Jason is whispering, hissing. "Damian is right. He can get in, find Tim, and no one will be any the wiser. We need to find Tim. Damian's right."

Jason says nothing else. He is thinking what everyone else is thinking but hasn't dared to say. The phone calls had stopped four days ago. Tim could already be dead.

Bruce looks at him. Dick keeps watching.

"Suit up, everyone. We leave in five minutes." Bruce's eyes slide over the floating Superboy. "You too, Conner."

It takes three minutes for everyone to get ready.


	29. Chapter 29

**I'm sorry Damian. I'm sorry I'm doing this to you. But OTP and whatnot. This chapter is a long one! I can't decide if I should make all chapters longer or not. But. Meh. Whatevs. ENJOY. C:**

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><p>Damian pops open a bottom floor window, landing lightly on his feet. Not even an old floorboard creaks at his footsteps. He glides through the shadows (for all the electricity they pay, you would think there would be more light) until he reaches a padlocked door.<p>

Checkpoint reached.

He reaches into his belt, working on picking the lock. It is of poor make, more to keep people in than to keep people out. _Drake. Tim. _

Floorboards creak upstairs and the lock pops. He snaps it closed, quickly, leaving it with the appearance of being locked before working his way down the basement stairs, shutting the door silently behind him. It's cold down here. The smell is sour and rank.

Ah. This is where the electricity bills go. The fluorescent lights are bright, stinging his eyes, regardless of his lenses. A large post is at the center of the basement, a chain wrapped around it. And the chain leans to a body, dirty and thin and trembling.

That is Drake's (Tim's) body. There is a scar along the protruding spine that Damian had given him. It is hidden by filth and blood and new marks, but that raised skin is _definitely _Damian's scar. Drake is still, unmoving. And Damian is almost certain that he was too late. (Todd will hate him. Grayson will hate him. Father will hate him. He will hate himself.)

Then, he twitches. Damian taps the beacon at the sign of life.

"I can hear you." His voice is thin and dry. With a grunt, he rolls over and Damian feels his knees tremble, bile rising up high and fast in his throat.

Drake is _dirty_. There are bruises and scratches and gashes. Dried blood and dirt. And his left arm. His left arm is bent at the reverse at the elbow, dirty bone peeking out from behind healing skin. And a blindfold. Drake has been blindfolded, his jaw bruises from punches or kicks. His ribs are a xylophone, his stomach is concave. His collarbone is prominent, his legs like twigs. His boxers are hanging off of his thin hips. Soiled. (Where had his clothes gone?)

Damian takes three steps closer.

"Stay _away _ from me. I don't know your footsteps."

Damian keeps coming. He kneels. He smell is worse from this distance.

Drake lashes out with his right arm, sluggishly. Damian snatches it, holds it out. And Drake tenses. He tenses as if Damian is going to break this arm as well. There are track marks under the dirt.

They have been drugging him. (Todd will be furious. _Damian_ is furious.)

"Let go of me. Let go of me you asshole."

"_Silence_," Damian's voice is diamond, solid and strong. But his insides are cracking, because _I love you_, because _why did this happen_ because _Todd will never forgive me._ Because _"we will return him to you broken_." "I'm trying to help you, Drake."

"Who are you?" Guarded. Footsteps, upstairs. Light enough to be the family's. Damian's heart whimpers.

Voices. Yelling.

"Damian. I am your brother, you idiot."

"Brother? I don't... I don't. What?"

Damian slaps him. Slaps him hard. Because. _How could you forget me?_ "Your youngest brother. Damian. The little demon. You incompetent _fool_." He doesn't mean it. Or he does.

Gunshots.

"Damian," Drake's voice is far away from him. _Come back, come back_. "Yeah. Damian. You _came_. You came for me?" More yelling.

"And you recall Jason, yes?" It would break his heart. Much as it had damaged Damian's (_when did you get to be so soft for Drake_).

"Of course I remember Jason. Of course." And he's far away again. And shaking. "But. His face. I can't. Damian I can't remember—" He cuts himself off, shaking further. Damian is sure he will shake himself to pieces.

The basement door slams open and Damian begins to work on the manacles on Drake's wrists and ankles. There are red, weeping sores wherever the manacles touched. With the mess, it is a wonder the open sores aren't infected.

"_Tim,_" Jason has seen him. There is a strangled sound from Dick.

"I told you he was alive, didn't I?" Quiet voice. Damian lifts his head. Blonde man. One of the brothers. "Though he hasn't thought about you in days. What family does he have that wouldn't come save hi—"

Bones. Cracking. The blonde's head falls limp, Jason's hands still pressing against the dead man's cheeks. Drake whimpers.

No one says anything. Bruce comes forward, lifts Tim up, who screams, because he must be in pain and his memories go in and out of existing. And Bruce begins shushing. Shushing and cooing and rocking as he carries Tim up the stairs.

Damian wishes he was bigger, wishes he was older.

Because _I love you._


	30. Chapter 30

**TIM ANGST. FOREVER AND EVER. POOR BABY. Oh. And. He's still blind. Sorry lovelies. **

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><p>There is too much noise. Too much noise, too many needles and his arm hurts. His arm hurts, his head hurts. And his eyes hurt too. He's opened them and he's still blind as anything else.<p>

No one's touched his blindfold. He's asked them not to.

"_Your eyes offend me."_

Offensive. Offensive means getting hit and that means getting the cold drug that makes his brain cold and makes him fall asleep. He's tired of sleeping. He's tired of sleeping and not eating, but he's not hungry.

And Jason hovers outside. Tim can hear his boots. Hear his curses. He can hear him talking to Dick and Damian. He can hear Kon and Bart. Cassie's out there too. They're all waiting for Tim to tell the nurse _yes, visitors please_. But he isn't going to do that.

Because he cannot recall a single face. Just voices. Voices that sound like they're coming from way too far away. It's a wonder he could hold on to that.

And he can't tell them. He can't tell Jason that he can't remember his face or his hair or what his boots look like. He can't recall Dick's face or Damian's angry pout. Just the voices that go with facial expressions that he can't remember and. He's supposed to have an eidetic memory. It's supposed to be perfect.

But it isn't anymore.

"Mister Wayne," the nurse whispers because she knows that he flinches when there are too many loud noises. "Your Father is coming in to see you."

"No one else?" Tim's voice sounds thin.

"No one else." That's Bruce's voice and he can't recall what he looks like either. Jason's yelling outside the door as it shut behind the nurse.

"Hello, Tim." The scrape of the chair on the floor and Tim's already crying and it's soaking through the blindfold. Bruce takes his right hand, holding it gently. "What's wrong?" It sounds like what he wanted his dad to be like and it just hurts more to think about.

"I can't remem-remember anyone's face." Tim sniffles and it's pathetic. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I got caught. I'm sorry. Dad, I'm sorry."

His hair is brushed off of his forehead, slowly. "Don't be sorry Tim. It wasn't your fault. We should have. We should have tried to get you back out their sooner. I'm sorry."

Tim can't stop and it hurts to cry because he's certain he has broken ribs. It hurts to move and breathe and everything. But he's sobbing and all he wants is to go back and be normal Tim again. Bruce squeezes his hand tighter.

He doesn't tell Bruce that his clearest memory is of Carson (because he knows his name now) rubbing his back as he screamed.


	31. Chapter 31

**THIS CHAPTER IS DEDICATED TO THE WONDERFUL PROTAGONISTICALLY ON TUMBLR (so sorry it took so long Miss Sam :C). SORRY FOR THE WAIT. I'M AN AWFUL HUMAN. SORRY. SORRY. (I'll update Sortis next. ;_;)  
><strong>

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><p>Master Timothy is much like a scared rabbit, Alfred has come to find. Every noise makes his nostrils flare and his muscles tense. Every smell causes a flinch. Voices trigger a downturn of the lips (and Alfred thinks he knows why, but of course Master Timothy refuses to talk about it and if this family just <em>communicated more<em>—pardon him, that thought is out of line).

"I didn't mean to punch him," Master Timothy says as Alfred applies a bandage to his cheek where Master Richard had hit back, reflexively. (And Master Richard feels horrifically about it, Alfred will need to talk with him too.)

"I know, sir. It is your first day back home. No one expects you to fall back into Timothy Drake just yet."

He heaves a sigh. "Dick tried to take the blindfold. I." He swallows. Shudders. "The arm with the cast too. I hit him with the _cast_." Master Timothy blinks, as far as Alfred can tell under the blindfold. "I should be sent somewhere else."

Alfred cannot help but scoff. "Do not be ridiculous. Sending you away would be the worst decision." He prepares for the next sentence, taking a moment. "I would, sir, like to take off the blindfold."

"No," his voice has risen an octave and his body has gone rigid. Might as well press on anyhow, what else is there to do?

"Why?"

"Because my eyes are ugly, they're disgusting. Don't. I can't—"

"Sir," Alfred slowly puts a hand on the boy's shoulder. "I would recommend it. It would help acclimate you back home. It would. It would be good. Sir. If you would just let me."

"Alfred, I can't," but he reaches up to the knot at the back of his head anyway. "Alfred."

"It's alright, Master Timothy. I am right here. I will not flinch or wretch or whatever it is you think I will do." And he tugs, with a shaking hand, and the blindfold that has been there since the hospital, since _before_ the hospital (and it had been a two week stay), falls off Master Timothy's face.

He blinks, whitewashed irises refusing to contract, as it has been since his sight was taken.

"I hate my eyes, Alfred." He murmurs. "I hate them."

"I assure you, sir," Alfred pats him on the shoulder, "no one else does. Wait here, I am going to see Master Richard." Master Bruce enters the living room just then and freezes. Tim turns his head toward him. "Ah, Master Bruce, chat with Master Timothy awhile, will you?" He stands, leaving the first aid kit on the coffee table and heads up the stairs.

Of course Master Jason is hovering at the top of them. "Hello, Master Jason."

"Will he get better?"

Alfred raises a brow. "Of course, sir."

"Are you sure?"

"I am confident," of course Master Timothy will get better. It would be unacceptable to have a different result. "But I do warn you, he heard the question. His hearing has improved."

Jason swallows and scuffs his bare feet against the floor.

There is so much to do in this family.

Alfred wonders how he manages it all, as he walks down the hallway to tend to Master Richard's swollen jaw.


	32. Chapter 32

**HEY SEE PRAETEXTUS. I'm happy with this chapter, but poor Damibaby why do I do this to you, if you have an answer I'd love it because POOR BABY.**

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><p>Tim steps down the stairs like he does every morning, as soon as the sun is up. Damian, as he does every morning, watches silently from the couch, peering over the back of it and watching Tim walk to the kitchen. He wonders, a little bit, if he has caught Tim's affinity for people-watching.<p>

"Damian," he says for the first time since he came home a week before, and his eyes cast perfectly to where Damian is hiding. "What are you doing." Of course it is a question, but Damian shrinks down a bit behind the couch anyway.

"I am observing," Damian replies. Which is true, in a sense. His heart titters against his ribcage and he hates this feeling.

What does one do with an already committed first love?

"Observe all you like," Tim shrugs and shuffles (when did Drake become Tim, when do these things happen).

That sounds like a proposition and Damian flushes, bright and red, slipping off the couch and taking the stairs toward Todd's room two at a time.

"Todd," on any other day, he would have yelled it, demanded it with all the force worth of an al Ghul. Jason stops, in the middle of a set of crunches it appears (there is a _Batcave_ for that, does sweat belong on a carpet, really?).

"What do you want, demon spawn?" He grabs a towel from the footboard, tossing it around his neck. He appears tired. Tired and distraught. Normal, really.

"You need to go and speak with Drake." Does Damian tell him? Does he say _he can no longer remember your face so you will need to talk to him. _What. What is he supposed to do? Where is Pennyworth with his meddling advice?

"I don't think that's a good idea. Have you seen Dick's face? Jesus fuck, it's like he got hit by a _car_ on his _jaw_."

"You have to." Damian puffs out his chest and stands up as tall as he can. "Because if you do not, then I will. And. And I will steal him from you." Jason looks at him like it's ridiculous. But it isn't. Damian could steal Tim if he wanted to. He. He could.

"Listen, I guess that's cute, or whatever but—"

"You do not understand," Damian hisses, voice low because Tim _cannot know his feelings_. "When you love someone, you follow them. You follow them into dark places and you bring a flashlight or a candle because that is what you do when you love someone. And if you will not be the flashlight, then I will. You will see, I can—I _can_ steal him from you if—" Damian touches his throat because it feels as if a hand sits there, gripping at his windpipe.

Jason stares at him, his eyes alight with... something. Hopefully the necessary candle. Or the flashlight. Preferably the sun. Jason takes three long strides before ruffling Damian's hair with one of his obscenely large hands.

"For someone who is about as emotionally crippled as Bruce, you're pretty brilliant."

"I know," Damian drops his hands and tries to stuff himself with pride (but his hearts aches, just a little). "It's genetics. Now put on a shirt, your abdominals offend me."


	33. Chapter 33

**I'm so sorry it takes me so long to update things, I'm really trying to be better about it. :c THIS IS FOR MISS PRO, BY THE WAY. And if you haven't yet, feel free to check out my tumblr, ryssabeth . tumblr . com.**

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><p>Tim is sipping coffee, his eyes shut as if they are blindfolded again, listening to Vicki Vale's daily report around Gotham City. Bruce had been out and about last night, saving the world while Damian was at home, fretting about Tim in a now-completely-understandable way. (Jason wonders if he should feel threatened, but he doesn't think that he has it in him to worry about that too.)<p>

Tim's head cocks, his eyes still closed, which is unsettling but.

"I can hear you." The voice doesn't exist, but the movement of his lips does, and Jason is frozen. "I." He cocks his head. "Jason?"

Jason takes that as his cue, his bare feet louder on the wooden floor of the foyer than he would like them to be. He relaxes, only marginally, when his feet touch the carpet of the living room. "Uh, yeah. It's me."

Tim's coffee mug is held in his right hand, the base supported on the cast, wrapped around the left. And Tim's hands are shaking, hot coffee getting perilously close to spilling over onto his hand.

Jason takes the cup between both of his hands, setting it on the coffee table, before taking a seat next to him. He's stiff, his head back to facing Vicki Vale, his eyes still shut (but not clamped, just... just closed). Jason takes his unbroken hand and places it against his cheek. (He expects the clock to the face that Dick got, but it doesn't come so—)

"I think I'm getting more fucking wrinkles," Jason murmurs against the palm of Tim's hand, which is slowly moving over the contours of his face all on its own. Tim's body turns toward him, his cast cradled against his stomach. "And you better start noting this, because there's no way I'm going to let you feel my face when I get ugly."

Tim makes a tortured sound at the back of his throat. "_No_," he hisses. Stops. Swallows. "No," he says, calmer this time. "No please. I—Jason, I. I can't." Jason gives him time. He lets Tim breathe in and out, over and over, because Tim gave him time to get over being an asshole (which obviously he still can't do). "I can't remember faces. Anymore."

It should be a punch to the gut. It should be a knife to the heart with a vicious twist, slicing it in pieces.

(_"I will steal him from you._")

"Then how about you relearn," Jason says, remembering Tim's light touches on his face in the bedroom, the way his fingers traveled across his cheekbones and his lips. This time Tim's hand, just the one, is trembling, tickling his skin more than igniting it.

He plants a kiss on Tim's fingertips when they touch his mouth and Tim's hand drops. His reaction is so quick, so surprising, that Jason rocks backward. Tim flails off of the couch, bumping into the coffee table, spilling drops of coffee on the surface before running away, toward the Cave. Perhaps to commune with the bats.

Perhaps to get away from Jason.

And he thinks that maybe the reinforced fist to the jaw would have been preferable.


End file.
